Warm
Falling snow made Konoha quiet, but this corner of the village was always quiet. Sasuke exited the Uchiha compound with a travel pack hanging heavy on his shoulder. On this evening, with hours until the beginning of the new year, the emptiness of his clan's district gnawed at him more than usual.
In a different life, he would be fire-jumping with his clan.
Before the new year, the Uchiha clan gathered and lit fires in the streets. They jumped together over the flames. With each leap, the fire fed on their sickness, weakness, and bad luck. It offered health and good luck in return.
Sasuke was not an animated child, but during this ceremony, he would jump high and wild like the others. There was a sense of invulnerability when arriving on the other side of the flame unscathed, then a burning drive to leap again. His feet were loud on the ground when he landed, because he didn't know yet how to move like a shinobi. Every year, he swore he would jump as high as Itachi, though he never could.
No fires were burning in the Uchiha district now, and no children were leaping. The gates to the compound creaked as Sasuke pulled them shut. He slipped into the tangle of Konoha's winding streets.
Halfway to his apartment, pink hair flashed in the beam of a street lamp. Sakura turned the corner, arms crowded with grocery bags, and strode towards the crosswalk.
Sasuke halted. She hadn't spotted him yet.
"Sakura ka…" he called. He could not say hello when he greeted her, only, Ah, it's Sakura, like she was a phenomenon to remark upon.
Sakura turned her head.
"Sasuke-kun," she replied, eyes brightening. As her gaze flicked to the bag over his shoulder, her smile faltered. "Are you going again?"
Sasuke frowned, pulling on the strap of the offending bag. He had only recently returned to the village. Did she think he was leaving so soon?
"I was visiting..." He turned his head in the direction of the old Uchiha district. "Gathering some things."
"I see," she murmured. "Then...do you have plans this evening? I'm going to make toshikoshi soba." She shifted an arm, revealing the green onions and package of soba noodles peeking out of one grocery bag. "It'll be too much for one person." Her cheeks were pink, but maybe it was the cold.
Sasuke usually preferred to be alone. Since returning to the village in the fall, he had his routine. It was not very different from his routine while traveling. In the mornings he trained. He cooked meals in silence and gazed at the view of the forest. In the evenings he tried not to sleep too deeply, his protocol to stave off the nightmares.
The only difference was that if Naruto pounded on the door enough, he might be convinced to spar. If Sakura was around, she healed his injuries. "Try to be more careful next time," she would say with a crinkle between her eyebrows, which is what happened when she wanted to say more, but didn't want to push him.
She wore that same look now, gripping her bags tighter in case he said yes, eyes already down in case he refused. Snowflakes rested and melted on her eyelashes.
After sorting through his father and Itachi's belongings, on a night when the compound should have been alive with fire, being alone wasn't as appealing as usual.
"All right," he heard himself saying.
.
.
Sakura had barely seen Sasuke since he had returned to the village. Now he was seated in her kitchen, tasting the toshikoshi soba she had made following her mother's recipe. If she wanted, she could bump her knee against his under her small table.
"Your apartment..." Sasuke began. His voice was quiet, the same timbre as the hum of her radiator.
"I don't spend a lot of time here," she interjected, palms itching. Her apartment was small and unadorned. She had cobbled furniture together courtesy of her parents, Ino, and a spare office in the Hokage tower. Half the time, she sneezed when she walked in the door, because she never found a moment to sweep the dust.
Sasuke's shoulder rose and fell. "No, it's not that." He raised the bowl to his lips, taking a long sip. "It looks like it's yours."
Before she could wonder how he concluded this, Sasuke lowered the bowl to the table, a little too gently. Something about the movement told Sakura to pay attention.
"I was gathering clothes. Mine are worn from traveling." He swirled noodles slowly in his broth. "I don't have another way to wear our crest. What I found wasn't in great condition."
Sakura would never fully grasp the lonely responsibilities Sasuke bore as the last of his clan. If he did not wear the crest, there was no one else who would. He had to choose, every day, to be an Uchiha. Otherwise they would disappear.
"If you need…" Sakura swallowed. "I can help. I know how to sew."
The sink dripped, once, twice. Sakura's mouth opened, an apology bubbling to her lips, when Sasuke left the kitchen. He returned to his chair and spread the contents of his bag on the table: carefully folded articles of clothing, uchiwa fans decorating each item.
Sakura stroked a loose thread, where the fabric of the Uchiha crest was lifting away from the back of a dark haori. "They're not in bad condition," she said. "They just need some attention."
"This was my father's," Sasuke said, fingertips grazing a deep blue yukata. He nodded towards the article in Sakura's hands. "Itachi's."
Sakura touched her knee to Sasuke's, soft enough to pass as an accident. He could easily move away, if he wanted to. He didn't.
"There was a certain stitch we used to sew on crests," he said. "But I was young. I never learned."
Sakura inspected the stitching pattern on the haori. It was not too different from a surgical stitch she knew. She unearthed her sewing materials from a kitchen drawer and started the careful work of re-attaching the crest.
When the task was done, Sakura lifted her head. Sasuke's chair was empty, and the table was clear of dishes.
"Sasuke-kun?" she called.
A soft grunt sounded from behind. Sasuke was leaning over the counter, next to a clean sink and a neat stack of dishes. He set aside a bottle of oil.
She frowned. "What are you doing?"
Sasuke turned, gripping her old cast iron skillet. Its surface appeared to possess more luster, and less rust, than usual.
"Your cast iron was rusting," he said in disapproval. "I'm re-seasoning it." He lit the oven and placed the pan inside with a clank. "It'll need an hour."
"You've made yourself at home," Sakura said.
A faint smile raised the corners of Sasuke's lips.
Sakura smoothed over the mended crest of Itachi's haori. "How is this?"
Sasuke reclaimed his seat and leaned in. Their shoulders brushed. After a beat, he nodded. "Good."
Sakura's cheeks warmed, unexpectedly. "Being a trained surgeon doesn't hurt."
The smile returned, closer to a smirk this time. He discovered her kettle, brewed tea, and set two cups on the table. Outside the window, night deepened, approaching midnight.
Sakura slipped back into concentration. Tomorrow she would start off the new year with an early shift at the hospital. Instead of going to bed, she added a yukata to her growing pile of mended clothing. Sasuke remained a quiet presence beside her, sipping tea, making no move to leave.
Maybe, she thought, looping thread through cloth, we'll do this again.
Sasuke peered at her face. "What are you thinking about?"
"Hm? Oh...nothing. Smells bad." The scent of oil pushed past its smoking point was filling her kitchen. "What are you thinking about?"
"The new year," he said, tracing the lip of his teacup. "Old traditions."
"Traditions?" she prompted.
Sasuke stood and slid his left hand into an oven mitt. "My clan...we used to do fire-jumping before the new year."
"That seems very beautiful," Sakura said, voice hushed. "I know fire is important to your clan."
"Yes, it is."
"Why is that?"
Sasuke removed the pan from the oven. A dark, glassy finish replaced rust and dullness, every imperfection transformed under the oven's fire. His eyes lowered. "It's cleansing."
Sakura stared down at the image of the uchiwa, symbolically fanning the flames of the Uchiha clan. Halfway through a stitch, she had an idea.
.
.
Fire-jumping was an exchange of energy, mutual agreement between human and flame. Both the Uchiha and the flames entered the new year warmer and stronger than before.
It was a long time since Sasuke had done anything resembling tradition. He had not even celebrated his birthday since first leaving the village, out of the habit of prioritizing his quest for revenge over himself. Tradition was hard when only one person remained to keep it fed. And there was so much he didn't know, that he had never thought to ask.
He wondered if he could manage to explain this to Sakura.
Sakura's eyes were fierce. She finished a stitch, barely looking, and disappeared into her bedroom.
The scent of lavender filled the air. Sakura paused in the hallway with a lit candle.
"You can do it here, if you want," she said, holding out the flame like an offering.
.
.
"Why aren't you jumping, nii-san?" Sasuke asked, tugging once on Itachi's sleeve.
The streets were crowded tonight, loud with chatter, music, and crackling flames. The main avenue of the Uchiha district was dotted with fires every few paces, so people could jump down the length of the entire street. Sasuke's chest was swelling with pride. This year, he had used his ever-strengthening katon to help otou-san light the fires.
Itachi crouched to Sasuke's eye level. His face was softer than normal in the starlight and the warmth of the flames. "Maybe later," he said, with a small smile, and a customary two-fingered tap.
As Sasuke frowned in disappointment, Itachi peered down an unlit alley. "I don't know if the fire will help this year. I might have too much for it to take away."
His brother's statement was odd––casual, yet tinged with something Sasuke couldn't understand. But the strangeness slipped from his mind once he rejoined the rest of his clan, the excitement of the ceremony taking hold of again.
Sasuke spent the next new year alone.
.
.
Sasuke was fourteen, footsteps echoing through the corridors of Orochimaru's lair. Time had little meaning this deep in the earth, but reading the dates on Kabuto's newest specimens had recalibrated him. The new year was days away.
Dim torches lined the walls. The fire beckoned him. Sasuke reached out a hand, considering.
Itachi's strange words, uttered a lifetime ago, rang in his mind. Sasuke understood what he meant, all of a sudden. The fire promised to cleanse him, to take the hurt away. But like Itachi, he was carrying too much.
He turned his back to the flickering torchlight and slunk into the cold dim of his chamber.
.
.
The day Sasuke returned to Konoha, the forest was under autumn's spell. Between mossy tree trunks and golden leaves, he caught his first glimpse of the village, bright beneath departing clouds.
"Okaeri!" Naruto shouted, a speck in the distance bounding through Konoha's wide gates. Beside him, Kakashi raised a hand in greeting.
Sasuke crossed the treeline, and the steps of his journey quietly ran out. He halted before his old mentor and teammate, the village walls high over his head.
"Taidama," he said. "What day is it?"
"The equinox," Kakashi answered.
Sasuke's gaze swept across his surroundings. The village streets were damp with afternoon rain. Wet leaves clumped together beneath his sandals. No one else was waiting for him.
Kakashi and Naruto exchanged a look.
"Sakura's in the middle of surgery," Naruto said.
"Hm," Sasuke replied.
It was a short walk to his old townhouse apartment. Kakashi presented him the key he had safeguarded, Naruto ordered him to come to dinner later that week, and then he was alone on the stoop. A stray cat emerged from beneath the stairs, interested in Sasuke's appearance.
Sasuke palmed the key in his hand, facing the door. He was not sure what he would find in the apartment he had vacated when he was thirteen. Did he make the bed before he left? Would he find his old clothes still folded in the drawers?
There was a blur in the air like falling blossoms. Sakura was standing on the sidewalk, mouth parted, exhaling a deep breath. Her boots were splattered with mud and what looked like blood. She wore a sweater thrown on top of scrubs, a crumpled surgery cap in her fist.
"Sakura ka," he said.
She straightened. "Okaeri, Sasuke-kun."
He had wondered what it would be like to look at her again. Now he learned it was the same. The exact same.
.
.
Sasuke was seated in Sakura's kitchen, his eyes unfocused. He saw a clan, together, jumping over fire to bring in the new year. His clan was gone, yet he was warm, and alive, and Sakura was looking at him over the candle's fire.
He must have been silent for too long, because Sakura's hand drifted down. "I'm sorry," she said, voice wavering. "I know it's not the same––it's nothing at all how it should be…"
Sasuke rose to his feet and caught her hand. "It will work fine."
It was not the same. But a flame was a flame. It promised to take his bad luck away, if he so allowed.
Sakura set the candle on the ground, casting the walls of her narrow hallway in a whirl of light and shadow.
Sasuke closed his eyes and leapt. He leapt again, over and over Sakura's small candle. Light footed, he didn't make a sound.
When he opened his eyes, Sakura was leaning against the wall, head bowed.
"Sakura. Your turn."
Sakura's brow furrowed. "It's not my tradition."
"I want you to," he said, moving aside to create space.
Sakura took a breath, preparing herself. She bounded over the candle, twirling and twisting freely in the air. Watching her, Sasuke turned over a thought in his mind that he no longer wanted to ignore.
With a final leap, she landed close to him. She leaned up on her toes, balanced perfectly between standing and falling, eyes shining from the joy of the movement. Sasuke steadied her elbow, even though she didn't need him to. It was a reflex, like dragging up a blanket in the middle of a cold night, or sighing after drinking water. He could not help but catch her.
It was not the same. There was the scent of lavender, a pile of clothing with freshly sewn Uchiha crests, and somehow, Sakura's fingers wound together with his.
"You're an Uchiha now," he told her. Perhaps it was too blunt to say it this way, but it was true. Anyone who fire-jumped was an Uchiha. If he was the last, then he could shape his traditions, and choose who to do them with.
Besides, they always knew each other well. They only needed some time to know each other well again.
Sakura squeezed his hand, her calloused palm pressed to his. "We can do this again next year. Whatever you like."
"I would like that," he agreed.
The candle flickered. It was the start of another year without his clan. But he and Naruto would spar together tomorrow morning. He would feed the stray cats, oil the Uchiha gates, and wear the crest of his clan on his back. Sakura might reach for his hand again. Lately he wasn't feeling so heavy.
.
.
As years passed, the tradition changed. It was not a celebration the way it used to be. It was a moment for mourning, remembering. It also felt like beginning.
One year, he leapt over the flame holding his daughter. She wasn't yet a year old, but her eyes already reflected the fire, like the eyes of any Uchiha. Sakura followed close behind. Everywhere around them was the comfort of warmth and good luck.
Sasuke was no longer alone. He hadn't been alone in a long time.
.
.
.
.
Notes: the fire jumping tradition mentioned in this story is inspired by chaharshanbeh soori, an iranian tradition my family and i celebrate as part of norooz (our new year, which occurs in the spring). i was not with my family this year, so i also jumped over a candle in the hallway of my apartment.
it's been a long year. i'm sending my love to all of you!